Valam was still confused. The man appeared to be of the same stature as Seth, the skin color was the same, the hair, the eyes, yet he seemed to lack something. Valam couldn’t quite place what it was. When formal introductions were finally made, Valam and Van’te excused themselves to allow the two friends to catch up on the past.
Seth and Cagan talked long into the night. Seth first explained his experiences in Imtal and then Cagan told how he had come to meet Chancellor Van’te. He spoke of the blind man who had found and befriended him and mended his broken leg and treated his wounds. The saltwater had fouled the wounds and nearly rotted the leg. Poison was festering and spreading through his body. He had almost lost his leg and his life, but the old gentleman had been able to save them both.
Afterwards, there was nothing more the two could say, so they retired to their beds, seeking to catch as much sleep as possible before the sun rose high in the heavens. As Seth lay in bed, he thought back to the last time he had seen Cagan. It had been just before the ship went down. His mind jumped to the letter Cagan had given him in those few frantic moments in which the Queen-Mother spoke of what he must do and why. No matter the cost, the two must survive. Seth had learned of his fate that day and it had carried him through experiences he would not have endured otherwise.
His mind exploded as the rationalization hit him; he now understood the Queen-Mother’s cryptic message. The Father had already seen to their needs. He had been blind in his thinking about Galan; if his mind had been open, he would have known that the Father would not have let them fail. He had denied fate and tempted destiny. Galan should have been allowed to pass; it was her time and now she was gone forever. She did not even rest in the house of the Father.
Images flashed through his mind. Seth could not deny the feelings of guilt. His thoughts were scattered to and fro. He tried to close his tired eyes and find solace in sleep, yet the face came to him and would not allow him to do so. As he lay staring at the ceiling, another face danced within his thoughts and even in sleep the two faces found him.
Valam had not been idle the previous night; he and the good chancellor stayed up well into the early morning hours discussing plans for the camp to be set up near the coast, the progress of arms production, the acquisition of supplies, and many other things. The rumors of continued unrest in the Minors wandered into their conversation from time to time though the chancellor seemed to think the rumors were idle chatter. Valam was inclined to believe him. They had many contacts in each of the kingdoms and if something were really taking place, they would know.
Over the course of the next several days, the base camp was constructed, and training and recruitment began. Once the camp was set up and supplies and arms were distributed, Valam’s fears concerning the other kingdoms disappeared. Runners were sent to all areas of the kingdom, including the major cities of the north and east. Valam intentionally sent two sets of runners to Imtal and within days those that had been gathering around the city and those that were filling its guest houses, inns and streets, quickly raced southward.
Word of mouth spread fastest through the countryside and after a time Valam sent out no more runners. He allowed rumors and excitement to do the work that it would have taken his runners a fortnight to do. The camp, which was already of generous proportions, housing a massive contingent that represented nearly a third of the Imtal garrison, a select stock from the garrison outposts along the route from Imtal to Quashan’, and a healthy number of mercenaries from the Free Cities, nearly doubled in seven days, yet it wasn’t only soldiers and mercenaries that joined the encampment. Peddlers, merchants, and hustlers of all sorts descended upon the camp. Valam found that he had his hands full just controlling the crowds.
Perimeter patrols were set up around the camp along with a continuous watch. Controlled checkpoints were erected at the four ordinal points of the compass. Mounted patrols rode constantly, surveying the area the soldiers now referred to as Peddler Town, a place where nearly everything that could be bought or sold in the Free Cities was readily available. A fence had to be erected around the training grounds to hold back the spectators and this seemed to be the thing that set Valam on fire.
A decree went forth written in Chancellor Van’te’s own hand. Those that defied the patrols would no longer be set free or levied with a simple fine. A mandatory sentence of servitude was called for—service in the army of Great Kingdom until the transgressors had fulfilled their obligation to the state. Suddenly, and without much surprise, Peddler Town quieted, the patrols no longer had difficulties twenty-four hours a day, and the training grounds were vacated during practice hours. A disturbance happened now and then, but only a few times a day, which Valam counted as a divine gift.
Chapter Seven
Beyond the grand audience chamber lay a central athenaeum, gathering halls, dining halls, kitchens, rows of bed chambers, open air courtyards and many, many other chambers of various kinds, yet it was the bathing pool that drew in the tired, grimy travelers. Boyish airs returned to Vilmos as he playfully swam around the large oval pool, and Ayrian and Xith watched with surprised interest.
Hidden things stirred within the boy; and they awaited the time of their further arousal, which could still be years away. This first day in the mystical city passed as a blur before their eyes, and none would be able to recall it in the days or weeks that followed.
Lacking a discernible day or night, the Cloud City truly seemed outside of time; and for the most part throughout the many days that followed their arrival, Vilmos was left to his own whims while the shaman and the lord spent most of their time in heated debates with the master of the Cloud City, Noman. On the other hand, the gentle warrior, Amir, was free-roaming; and, as he wasn’t the sort to enter into the discussions, he spent most of the time with Vilmos.
Vilmos was intrigued by the goliath and his play with the sword, watching with earnest interest during the periods when Amir trained, imagining the shadow dancing around the nimble warrior. Often he would laugh, shriek, and even applaud. Xith, however, did not spend all of his time with Noman; he also made time to continue the boy’s training and education.
Vilmos was more curious than ever about magic and its origins. He came to realize, in his experience in the Cloud City, that it was not evil as he had been led to believe in the past. Xith also did this to see how far the black priests had corrupted the boy’s thinking and if this twisting could be undone.
Outside, beyond the sanctified walls, a fortnight had passed though within the City a mere seven days had taken place. The moon was again full and the night sky was cloudless and full of brightly shining stars although those within did not know this. Amir had paced nervously throughout most of the day; and now as the others ate the evening meal in the grand dining hall beneath the wide sphere of the central dome, he again roamed in front of a nearby window.
A decision had been made the previous day to leave the city of the sky, and this would be the group’s last meal within the great, protective walls. Among the many thoughts that disturbed the agile warrior’s thoughts, this was the one that played most heavily, for he did not wish to venture beyond the sanctuary the great walls afforded.
“What is wrong with him?” asked Vilmos, indicating the solemn figure of Amir.
“He is troubled, that is all; it will pass,” replied Noman.
“Eat, Vilmos, eat. We have much work to do, many studies to review,” urged Xith. “Did you forget your promise?”
Vilmos frowned and returned his attention to his plate.
“What do you think will come of it?” asked Amir, making the long trek back to the table with slow precision as he spoke, “I mean, what will it all bring, for I can sense nothing but futility. It seems that the past will repeat itself and I cannot swallow the weight of it. I will not let it replay master, I can not.”
Noman smiled, a generous smile that the newcomers were beginning to equate with the guardian’s twisted sense of the just and the unjust.
> “No single person can hold the weight of such a burden in the palm of his hand and be expected not to buckle beneath it, yet—” the savvy guardian paused purposefully, gripping clenched hands into tight fists, and all eyes turned to meet his unwavering gaze, especially those of the perceptive boy, “— yet, if we all perform a simple feat, such as twisting our hands at the wrist and turning them palms up and fingers spread wide—just like this—”
Noman demonstrated.
“We can reach out—go ahead, reach out—and intertwining our fingers, one within the other, we can lock them together and thus we can all, leaving no single one without his share, bear the weight of the burden. None of the united will buckle under the shared weight.”
As Noman finished, his voice trailing off and fading into echoes that wandered the hall, the air seemed alive with energy; and by way of the link of hands that circled around the table, it surged through the collective group. Upon later reflection, that one fleeting moment would be the shaman’s fondest recollection of the time spent within the mystical city, and the spell of bonding woven in that same instant would cling to the hearts of the other listeners with an equal sense of affection for a long, long time. Yet even the influence of such potency could not protect the ill-fated group from what happened next.
“Master, they come!” yelled Amir as he drew his sword and leaped from the platform where the group was seated to the large open floor and then back again in a single, fluid seesaw motion.
As if in answer, the walls and ceiling of the chamber imploded, sending debris cascading in all directions. Noman quickly managed a defensive barrier, a great magical shield, and most of the debris fell harmlessly away. Open to the night sky, the chamber was a gaping hole of emptiness that gazed up into the dark night sky, and with the darkness came a bitter cold that swept through the chamber. A figure stood apart from the others, away from Noman’s protective shield, gathered in a shimmering shroud of light that shifted and fluttered as if it were a part of the very air that the figure breathed. A few moments passed, no more than a collection of sporadic heartbeats for the onlookers, but it became clear who the figure was; and it wasn’t shock or dismay that traversed the many deep-set lines stemming from forehead to chin but fear, simple fear.
Beneath the protection of Noman’s magical dome, the four watched and waited. Amir had his sword held at the ready, Xith yanked in the energies from around him, shaping the wild magic to his own whims, and Ayrian flexed his wings, preparing to act on his notion to launch into the sky. None of the four could have predicted what was to occur next, not even the wisest among them who had seen the many paths the future held and followed the many turnings. A new branching had broken from the main path moments before. The dark shapes stirred in the night sky, shifting amongst the stars, moving closer until they blocked out the light from above as they clustered around the fallen roof. The whole chamber became enshrouded in shadows with the exception of the glowing figure and the translucent barrier Noman maintained. A new path was being shaped.
“Here me, O Dark Ones! You shall return to your masters either in defeat or victory this day, but let it be known that I, Dalphan, the Wanderer-Reborn, He that in his madness was once Rapir the Black, dissolve the dark pact with his brothers. My spirit will not rest until you return to darkness and then, only then, at the last shall I return the watcher to the gate—for all time.”
The warning not heeded, the servants of the darkness continued to descend from the sky. They were not ready to return to the void, and no single being would make them return without the cost of their dark lives. In their eyes, the four mortals before them and one who had once been a favored son were no match for a dark army that cried out at its own rebirth. Mrak, the wraith king, came to the fore, his shadow-like face seeming oddly saddened—if sadness was an emotion such creatures were capable of feeling. Dalphan motioned for the others not to attack as Mrak approached.
“Why, master?” came the raspy, whispered voice, “The plan was flawless.”
“I am not what I once was. I have changed. I remember the past, and I cannot let it be replayed. Leave now, my friend, and I will spare your life. There are places in this world as yet untouched and they could be yours.”
“I cannot,” said Mrak sadly, “The world of darkness and the world of light feed off of one another. Where there are souls I must go. You know this—and yet you entreat with such folly.”
“You must!” the other disagreed.
“I am sorry,” said Mrak, his features growing cold and rigid as he spoke. Mrak pointed a long sinewy finger down at Xith and Ayrian, saying in the same raspy, half-whispered voice, “I should have claimed your spirits when I had the chance!”
Mrak ascended back into the ranks of the servants; and poised there behind his kind, he looked down with true sadness at his old master. He was sure he would not endure this night, yet he was also sure his master would not either.
In waves, the creatures of darkness and dread descended like a grave blanket to the floor of the dome, with the more powerful wraiths lingering at the rear. Although his thoughts fixed on a distant figure, Amir rushed to cut off the first such group, hags of the night, creatures with corporeal bodies, pawns of darkness. He was lightning with his sword, lashing out repeatedly, ripping clean the rotting flesh from the beasts; and each time he struck, one of the creatures fell. He surged forward through their ranks, cutting a straight path towards the one who waited for him. The trapped soul within the hag was different from those of the wraiths or the other dark beings gathered before them, for it was not entirely twisted and bent towards evil ends. With the corporeal form the soul was offered a place of refuge from torment and within this form there remained bits and pieces of what had once been individual discernment, and this caused them to both fear and greet the return to darkness with an unsettling expectancy that chilled Amir.
Dazzling clashes of cobalt and vermilion light filled the chamber and reflected from the remains of the once proud walls as energies struck opposing magic shields. Only through deep concentration that required all his will did Noman maintain the shield against the combined onslaught. The masses, hags of the night, demons lesser and greater, specters and wraiths, continued to pour in through the broken dome crowding hungrily into the large space overhead and onto the floor of the dome. Behind them all, even behind the wraith king, far, far out, looking on, floated the nameless beast, the marshaler of darkness, mortal adversary of Amir the White, right hand of Sathar the Dark.
As each new wave of assault opened, it created another hole in the shield Noman continually replaced and refortified. Noman cringed and shrank back with each new bombardment. The cloistered demons were the heavy-handed dealers of magic for the dark forces; their shelter was largely the masses of their brethren crowded before them. A few among them did maintain protective barriers, but these were the lesser among them. They struck out with the forces of fire and negation, energies only they could interweave. From under the protective umbrella of Noman’s shield, Xith struck back with his own offensive, causing even greater clashes of magic to rock the chamber. He understood the life force the demons held and the powers they tapped, and he used this to his fullest advantage. The demons of the beast always struck out when their powers reached the maximum; and as they prepared to release this massive amount of force, Xith attacked, dulling the release and usually destroying the recipient in the process. Yet as one disappeared, another would take its place. Closer and closer the hordes of death pushed. Xith’s hands were a frenzy of scattered movements, tossing out a wave pattern of energy around them, hoping to hold the creatures at bay until his friends could all react. Ayrian had paused only a moment to seek the wildness from within. His talons became rapiers that tore through the opponents, his wings beat at the air, dancing him in and out of the ranks of the beast; and he quickly pursued Amir, until the two were poised directly in the midst of the enemy ranks.
“I gave you the chance to leave. You should have taken it
!” said the wanderer as he appeared next to the startled wraith king.
“Master N*********o,” came the strangled cry from Mrak as he perished, instantaneously. The mighty wraith king had fallen like a child as Dalphan had devoured the negative energies of his life.
If there had been observers looking down from the gray canopy of the night sky, the great, domeless hall would have seemed a bowl filled with black pearls amongst which twinkled cheerless sapphires and hapless rubies, yet there were no such observers looking down. And to those that looked up, the hall seemed a shambles of fallen stone; and obscured by the dark horde in front of them, the gray sky was of little consequence. Each burst of evil, red against the protective shield that shimmered in ever-dwindling shades of yellow, brought evident pain to his face as the gifted guardian strained under the energies; and when he could no longer withstand them, the shield faltered for an instant and Noman fell to the ground in exhaustion.
“I cannot keep it up much longer under this pressure,” he shouted to Xith. “You must eliminate the attacks to our rear!”
Expeditiously, Xith diverted his energies, and the change appeared to work, the shield strengthened and Noman sighed in relief. The beast and Amir locked eyes but could not close in on each other. Amir had waited centuries for the day when he would gain his revenge, as had the other. Amir increased his assault, wielding his blade with greater speed than he had ever attained before, and its edge, lethally-hewn, claimed many of the dark in the heated moments that followed. Having a difficult time keeping up with the pace Amir set, Ayrian was being pushed backward and downward by the horde of wraiths around him. The area he had been maneuvering in closed; and he was forced to the defensive, blocking and parrying, waiting for a moment when he could make a new thrust.
Behind the lines of wraiths a new force loomed closer. The hideously disfigured faces were the cause of Noman’s agony and the reason his shield was growing less stable with each passing second. The magic of darkness was second nature to such creatures; they enjoyed a good fight and watching puny men squirm under their might. Their magic was black and evil, and extremely potent. Energies odd and ancient created explosions that rocked Noman’s shield and sent him to his knees in recovery. This was the magic of the shadow demon, an ancient kin to the greater demons of the nether plane.
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